


draw your weapons

by CaityCat



Series: Knife Verse [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Gen, Implied Relationships, Knife 'Verse, Other: See Story Notes, Pre-James T. Kirk/Spock, Violence, gangster au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaityCat/pseuds/CaityCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise Crew is the best gang in San Francisco. They're the elites of every position, and they've never met an enemy they couldn't deal with.</p><p>This is how they met.</p><p>prequel to "your knife to my back, my gun to your head" (but can be read as stand alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christopher Pike

**Author's Note:**

> warnings will be posted here for each chapter.
> 
> chapter warnings: off-screen massacre

 

Christopher Pike was well into his forties when he built the gang.

He hadn't always been a gangster. At one point, he'd been in Starfleet.

When Pike was twenty-two, he joined Starfleet hungry to visit new worlds, explore, and learn. He loved the idea of Starfleet and the Federation, spreading hope and learning and help throughout the galaxy.

He liked school, and in four years he was on a starship working on the bridge. He was smart, and polite, and clever. He advanced quickly through the ranks, and by thirty-six he'd gotten his grasping hands on the first officer position of a ship called the USS _Enterprise_.

She was his first love, that ship. With the USS _Enterprise_ , he spent ten years shooting through the stars, exploring and learning about civilizations he'd never dreamed of seeing. He married on board that ship to the love of his life, who put up with all his crazy habits, and he was happy.

He served under a man named Alexander Marcus. Marcus was a good captain. He was a hell of a diplomat (which, in Starfleet terms, meant he could lie really well), and he never lost a fight.

Pike didn't learn that they used their guns more often than they needed to until after he had been discharged.

It was nine years and eight months into his career as first officer when Marcus came to him holding a heavy, password protected PADD. The word classified was printed in heavy block letters across the screen, and Pike had a feeling in his gut that things were about to go wrong.

He was right.

The PADD told the story of twenty-seven escaped convicts. There were women and men, all of varying appearances, but all terrifyingly tall and fit. Their files told of horrifying feats of strength that Vulcans would envy, and intelligence beyond compare. They were weapons, Marcus told him, genetically altered creatures of war.

Marcus was going to kill them all to prevent it.

He told Pike his plan. Their phaser banks were currently locked on to every single one of the twenty-seven criminals. He was going to shoot them now, end them mercifully in their sleep.

Marcus was so absolutely certain that what they were doing was right. He told Pike that if they didn't kill them, the twenty-seven genetic mutations would destroy everyone and everything in a war that the Federation hadn't seen the likes of in years.

So Pike agreed to turn a blind eye when their phasers went off that night.

Marcus had a way of talking that made everyone believe him.

Pike wished he'd known that people had once said the same about Hitler.

That night, twenty-six phasers hit their mark. Pike didn't check, so he didn't know that one had missed until the man that had escaped the fire – Khan – was caught in Starfleet's San Francisco headquarters, with bloody hands and brain matter staining his coat. He'd killed sixteen people, four of which were admirals Pike knew personally.

Khan went to trial like pigs go to slaughter, and he told his story. He had sympathizers with civilians, and even a few in Starfleet, and when he turned his accusations to Pike and Marcus, Marcus had an alibi.

He'd been in a diplomatic meeting with the planet's officials when the weapons had fired.

Pike had been on the bridge.

Pike was going to fight back. He hadn't known there were women and a child among Khan's people, and it had been Marcus that took the shot, not him. But Marcus was beloved, a highly admired captain that had served Starfleet for years.

Pike was relatively unknown.

Pike went down in flames.

They discharged him for dishonorable conduct and told the world he was suffering from a form of PTSD from time imprisoned. They gave the public the name of a planet he'd only visited once on shore leave, and he couldn't tell anyone the truth.

His wife was thrown out of the 'fleet a week later. Admirals pretended she'd quit.

Pike's life fell apart in the span of a week, and Marcus was promoted to admiralty for some bullshit reason. He somehow came out of the entire situation better off than before, for supporting Starfleet and turning over his “corrupt” second in command.

Pike would have gone for revenge if he hadn't seen Marcus' personal PADD the last day of trials.

He had information on Pike's wife, on Number One's elderly mother and father. He had all of Pike's details available at the click of a button, and Pike knew he could do too much damage, so he stayed quiet.

Two years after leaving Starfleet, he was jumped by a bunch of thugs. He beat them all into submission and then taught them all how to fight better when they admitted to being starving and scared. They became loyal.

Pike took over, and Number One suggested that he give their little group a name. In a city like San Francisco, having a gang yourself wasn't all that bad an idea. Pike didn't disagree, but he only told her the good stories. He left out the ones about robbing stores or busting up rivals. Number One gave them their name.

“Call them The Enterprise Crew,” she said, “Get some decency out of that name. They took our old girl apart anyways, so we should claim the name again.”

And they did.

 


	2. James Tiberius Kirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Kirk is the soul of the Crew, now. But this is how he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter *skip to avoid spoilers*: explicit child abuse, alcoholism, cursing, violence

 

George Kirk was a pilot. He flew planes, jets, shuttles. He'd once been in Starfleet Academy, but then his parents couldn't afford the tuition and he'd dropped out.

Pike had approached him a few years down the line, right when The Enterprise Crew was getting a name for themselves. At the time, George Kirk was newly married. His wife was named Winona and she knew cars on the inside, fixed them up when he broke them. When Pike came to George, he was between jobs. Pike offered him one as a driver.

George wasn't a stupid man. But he turned a blind eye to the reason Pike needed a driver that could also pilot shuttles and fast jets, and did his job while Pike put food on his table. Pike was never cruel or mean, never threatened George or blackmailed him. He asked, and George, well aware of what he was getting into, accepted.

It was good money, and the only thing George had to do was turn a blind eye to the blood on the backseats.

When James Tiberius Kirk was born, George gave up the job. Pike gave him a huge sum of money, told him to take care of himself and the kid. There was no ill will.

Winona still blamed Pike when she came home from the repair shop where she worked to find George face down on the table, a bullet in his brain.

James T. Kirk was just over three days old. He was sitting in George's lap, crying. There was blood on his sunshine onesie, but it wasn't his own. George was still holding him, and blood ran down the back of his neck, dripping onto his son.

Winona had screamed so loud, her neighbors had called the police. They never found the man that did it (at least, the cops didn't. Her son did, years later and unintentionally).

James Kirk was raised with half a mother (she joined Starfleet and escaped to the stars where nothing reminded her of George), and a stepfather that liked cheap beer and women that could let him buy cheap beer.

Frank worked at a shop that sold kevlar and body armor, among other “self-defense” things. The only reason his shop was still open was because the cops went there too. Otherwise, the police would have shut him down for helping all the gangs.

Frank worked “self-defense” during the day, and came home every day at 12:13 with beer on his breath, and fury in his eyes. James was three when the hitting started. He would cry, and hug himself into a ball, but Frank would talk about how the reason Winona was never there was because James was a stupid kid that looked too much like his father. He'd punctuate each word with knuckles that sent purple across Jim's skin, in just the right places that nobody saw unless Jim wanted them to.

He never wore short sleeves or shorts. He didn't make friends with the neighbors kids. He hid in his room, and squeezed his eyes shut under the desk when Frank spewed furious things at him through the door and threatened send him outside to meet the real bad guys.

When Jim turned seven, Winona came home on break one day to find him in the bathroom. There were tiny cuts on his head where he'd used her razor to shave off all his pretty blond hair. When she caught his hands and demanded to know why, he told her without crying: “Now I don't look like Daddy, right?”

She cried with him on the bathroom floor, sitting on the locks of his hair. He hugged her, and comforted her, and she left two days later.

She'd come back for a weekend or two, but more often than not, it was just Jim and Frank.

Then it was mostly Frank in the house, because Jim took to the streets. For a long time it was just gambling. He was terrified to drink because it smelled like Frank, so he stuck to the cards and dice, and he was good at it. Years of masking fear and other emotions from Frank gave him an excellent poker face, and nobody ever expected the thirteen year old pretty blond boy with the innocent blue eyes.

After he crashed Frank's car through the electric fence and nearly died, the innocence he gave off was gone. The streets thought he was insane.

So then came the girls. Jim kissed his first girl when he was fourteen. They dated a month before she saw the bruises on his arms in the shapes of fingers and broke up with him. After that it was a haze of short skirts, lipstick and pretty girls that grabbed at him. Sometimes he didn't remember their names. Then it was boys, too.

Jim craved their affection, he didn't care what they looked like. Frank tried to beat him more, calling him names, but Jim wore both bruises and insults like prizes now. _Slut. Whore. Fucktoy. Your mother isn't coming back because she can't believe you're such a piece of shit._

Jim learned a lot of the city's secrets by being pretty, damaged, and alone.

Frank almost killed him the day of his fifteenth birthday. Jim came home late, smelling like cigarettes despite not smoking. His hands were dry from working on a car for the last hour to earn more money for the jar that held the money that would get him out of here. He was tired and trying his best to be quiet.

Frank came down the stairs like a bear. He hit Jim and they crashed back against the glass door. It rattled, and cracked, and when Jim raised his arms to fight back, Frank sent him crashing through the glass.

His head hit the concrete of the sidewalk. Jim was no amateur to beatings, he'd even learned to fight pretty well over the years. But just then he saw stars, and couldn't breathe.

An older man, a few years older than Frank but not by much, broke one of Frank's arms hauling him off of Jim. Jim sat up to see Frank knocked out, a bloody wound on his head.

His rescuer was named Pike.

Pike told him a little story about a group called the Enterprise Crew, and as he spoke his arm fell around Jim's shoulders in a way that Jim had never felt before. He felt calmed and steadied. Pike wiped the blood from the back of his head, and talked about what family was supposed to be.

“I can give all of that to you, if you want it.” Pike said softly. “George Kirk was my friend. You can be better. You don't deserve any of this.”

“Take me away from here, and I'll do whatever you want.” Jim said, and Pike did.

Pike taught him things. Some of it, Jim already knew. He was better at picking locks and hacking things than Pike was, and could hotwire a car faster. But Pike taught him to fight and shoot a gun. Jim learned everything fast, devouring the knowledge like some people drank coffee. Everything Pike gave him, he took.

He learned he was in a gang by sixteen, and didn't care.

He taught them the places that had more money in the registers, and quietly dropped the names of Frank's friends when somebody wanted a target.

Pike warned him off jobs for as long as he could, but Jim went anyways. When he did, the results were dangerously effective. By seventeen, Jim was second in command, and demanded respect.

He no longer wore bruises. He wore gold, like a beacon that dared people to come closer, to test him. He was cunning, and protective, and paid attention. The gang loved him, and he loved it back the way Jim Kirk loved everything: fiercely, with terrible strength and fear.

Pike had never had a son, but he thought Jim was close enough. Jim never told him that he loved him too.

 


	3. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard McCoy was the best damn doctor in the city. He finds The Enterprise Crew through the worst day of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: harsh language, divorce, alcohol, blood, injury

Leonard had been married three years (to the day) when he woke up to divorce papers.

It took a minute to comprehend. Most people, when they woke up on their anniversary, had breakfast waiting for them in bed, or flowers, or some other thing people thought were romantic. It hadn't been that way in a while, but divorce papers...

Leonard took a long time to get out of bed that morning. The papers were signed. Fully completed except for the tiny signature he had to give. He didn't want to sign it.

Jocelyn was a whirlwind of a woman. Everything she did drew people in. She was beautiful and smart, and she had the most adorable laugh. Leonard had fallen for her fast and hard, and within two months of them dating, they drove to Vegas and got married. It was a quick and barely sober wedding, with grabbing hands and smiles and laughter. They were happy.

And then they weren't, four weeks into the marriage.

He would probably always love her a little bit, in a deep part of him that was buried under frustration and bitterness. Jocelyn didn't like his job. She didn't like his friends at work, didn't like his hours, didn't like anything to do with any of it. But Leonard was a doctor. He'd always been a doctor. Even when he was little, he'd played with toys modeled after antique stethoscopes. He took less hours to try and appease his wife, but she was never satisfied.

They fought often, and fought hard.

When Joanna was born, they settled down. The baby girl was soft and sweet. Leonard took more time off to spend with her. Joanna became her daddy's little girl, and he rarely wanted to put her down or let her out of his sight. Joanna soothed all the rough edges like aloe soothed burns, but aloe didn't make the burns go away, and Joanna couldn't fix what was already broken.

The fighting started up again. Civil discussions turned sour and harsh. Insults were thrown, cursing was barely muffled behind shut doors as Joanna slept two doors away. Leonard took to sleeping on the couch instead of in his bed. Jocelyn never told him not to.

He bought a futon and slept in Joanna's room.

So when Leonard woke up to papers stacked at the foot of his bed, it wasn't something that he hadn't seen coming. It was abrupt, possibly, but it had always been a threat.

He pulled out his cell phone and canceled the reservations he'd made at the five-star-diner downtown, and signed the papers with one hand. Once, he would have fought for her, but you can't fight every battle, and she didn't want to be won.

Seeing Joanna gone hurt more than the divorce papers. He almost tore the house apart, panic setting in. Not his baby, not his little angel.

But his phone had a voicemail, and Leonard listened to it. Each word tore him apart even more, made him want to get back into the futon and pretend it had never happened.

“ _We always knew it wasn't going to work. It's better this way. I want you out of the house by tonight, alright? You've got relatives out of town or something. Go stay with them. I've got Joanna, and you've got your career. Let's just agree never to see each other, okay? We're better when we're not together. Joanna doesn't need a father who's never home. Joanna--”_

It went on until the next beep cut her off, and Leonard threw his phone across the room. It busted against the wall and he crumbled with it, sagging into a sitting position on his bed. The crib across from him was so painfully empty.

Leonard pressed his fists to his eyes and choked on tears.

Next thing he knew, he was in a bar. It was a filthy place, low class and sticky. Girls were dancing on tables in short skirts and sparkly things. Leonard ignored them to pour more alcohol down his throat. It had started with cheap beer, but when it didn't feel bad enough he took to whiskey and bourbon. He hadn't called in to work today, and he was on his twelfth shot when the blond slid into the seat beside him and grinned.

“Rough day?”

“Got divorced.” Leonard snapped, “Lost my daughter too.”

The stranger ordered Leonard more shots, and drank with him. Leonard didn't want the company, but the young man was like a horsefly. No matter how many times Leonard tried to swat him away, he kept coming back. He asked his daughter's name. Raised a toast to her.

He tried to flirt with Leonard, and Leonard snorted. It was as close to a laugh as McCoy had come all day.

“Jimmy.” Someone said behind Leonard, and then they slammed Leonard's drinking partner face first into the bar. Leonard jumped up in shock and then swayed and nearly fell over.

“The hell?”

''Jimmy'', as the blond had been called, reared back. His nose was broken and there was a cut on his cheek from broken glass, but he was grinning. Leonard hadn't seen him stop grinning since he met him. “Harry Mudd. _Again_?”

Leonard looked at the attacker. He was an enormous man, heavily overweight, with the single most ridiculous mustache Leonard had ever seen. He was also sweaty and red and clearly drunk off his ass. “Let's settle down now, fella.” Leonard warned, stepping closer to Jimmy.

“Who's _this?_ ” Harry Mudd looked down his squashed nose at Leonard and spit on the floor. Leonard rolled his eyes, head swimming with too much alcohol to properly deal with this.

“This is my friend...” Jimmy said, and then apparently realized he hadn't asked Leonard his name. “Anyways, I'm drinking here. You wanna leave me alone?”

“You wanna stop tipping off the cops on where I'm stashing my girls?” Mudd retorted. Jimmy sneered.

“If you think I'm gonna let you get away with kidnapping girls and selling them like cattle, you're an even bigger idiot than you look.” Jimmy stood up. He was significantly less drunk than Leonard, but still well past tipsy.

Mudd grabbed a beer bottle and slammed it across where Jimmy's head would have been, had he not dodged out of the way.

After that, it was a blur. The entire bar erupted into chaos. Stools were thrown, knives were pulled out of places Leonard couldn't imagine there being a knife, and people were throwing drinks everywhere. He tussled briefly with an Andorian before managing to shove them off an away. At the center of it all was Jimmy. He threw insults at Mudd and then started throwing punches, too.

Eventually the cops showed up. The bartender pointed at Mudd when they asked who'd started it, and Mudd got dragged away.

For a moment, Leonard (slightly more sober than before from the surge of adrenaline) couldn't find Jimmy. Then he did, finding the man lying in a pool of his own blood beneath a table, a nasty looking gash spreading down his ribs. Leonard could see bone through the pulsing blood, and sighed.

He picked up his forgotten whiskey and dropped to his knees, sloshing the alcohol over the wound and then grabbing his kit. He'd been on the way to work when he'd stopped by the bar, and so had a very basic set of tool with him.

He wasn't the best doctor in the city without reason, though, and even what meager supplies he had were enough to fix Jim up.

“I'm Jim Kirk,” Jimmy told him, smiling at him. The fight appeared to have made him more drunk. It was also possible that the blood loss had done that.

“And I can see your damn bones right now, so I'd stop talkin' and lemme focus.” Leonard snapped, sealing the wound.

“Bones.” Jim said, “I'mma call you that.”

“Sure,” Leonard rolled his eyes, sure the kid wouldn't remember. “Whatever.”

–

When Leonard walked in the door to the Enterprise Building with Jim's arm over one shoulder, helping him stay upright, Pike was there to greet them.

“Who the hell is this?” Pike demanded, and before Leonard could say a word, Jim was slurring,

“This is Bones. He's new.”

Pike chewed Jim out for inviting someone to the gang without so much as a forewarning. Leonard realized he'd somehow joined a gang. Pike listened to the story of how Bones – “Leonard McCoy, actually” – Leonard finally managed to say his own name, thank you very goddamn much – had stitched Jim back together under a sticky bar table, and sighed.

“Welcome to the family, McCoy.”

McCoy had lost one family, but he supposed having another wasn't too bad.

 


	4. Montgomery Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montgomery Scott fled a bad boss and got snatched up by a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: references to offscreen slavery, minor violence, attempted unwanted drug use

Montgomery Scott had always had a hand in the affairs of the gangs downtown. He ran a shop downtown that made a lot of cash fixing vehicles to look street legal but run faster than any cop car. He'd lost count of how many times he'd had to install bulletproof armor on doors, or strengthen the glass of the windows. His shop resided right on the edge of the Neutral Zone, between Klingon streets and Romulan, right on the corner of the budding territory of the Enterprise Crew.

He made good money.

He didn't own the shop, but everyone who dealt with gangs also knew the name Scott. He had quickly become famous as the best mechanic in the city, always the first to have new things. He was kept busy every day and rarely took time off. He knew he served gangs, but for the most part he kept his hands clean of any violence or anger.

The day that happy little career ended, he'd been trying out a prototype of a new AI sound system. It was meant to function as a co-driver in case of emergency, while playing and queuing up any song the driver requested during normal times. It was working beautifully, until he accidentally crossed wires and it hacked directly into the shop owner's emails.

And began to read them out loud.

“ _We're picking up two more slave girls tonight, so I really need the tint on those windows done. If you're not done by 6, we'll have problems. Don't fail me.”_

“ _The blood in the seats better not be there when I get my car back. I'm tired of the bitches screwing up the interior when we get messy. Gimme somethin' to keep the blood off the seats.”_

“ _If the bulletproofing on the windows isn't better than the shit I got last time, I'm coming for you personally.”_

Every email was signed by a bigger name. Scotty raked his hands through his hair and caught sight of his pale face reflected in the window.

“Och, Keenser, what are we doin'? We cannae keep helpin' these people.” He rubbed his eyes, and Keenser made a gurgling noise beside him.

“I know we make good money, but I cannae live with this guilt no more!” Scotty slammed his hands down on the table, deciding. “I'm leavin'. You can join me if ye want or stay, lad, but I'm goin.”

“Going... where, Mr. Scott?”

Scotty jerked as though struck and whipped around. “Oh! Boss! I dinnae see you there!”

Melakon, for all intents and purposes, appeared human. He wasn't, and he didn't have the empathy of most of humanity, either. Scotty had always known him to be harsh and sharp, but he hadn't expected the cruel blind fury in his boss' eyes at that moment.

“I am sure you did not, Mr. Scott. Now, what was that I just heard about you leaving?”

“I'm afraid I simply cannae stay here a second longer, sir. I'm gonna have ta quit.” Scotty reached up and took his ID badge, unclipping it from his filthy coveralls. “I shoulda done it ages ago, sir, but I'm doin' it now.”

Melakon eyed the outstretched badge with a frown. “You can't quit.”

“Sir?” Scotty blinked, “I'm--”

“I said,” Melakon snarled, grabbing Scotty's wrist. Scotty jerked and Melakon shoved him back, pinning him against the side of a butter yellow Cadillac convertible. Scotty grit his teeth when he couldn't immediately get free. “You're not quitting. You're my best engineer and mechanic, easy. I'm not about to lose you because you've suddenly grown some sort of ridiculous conscience.” He withdrew a vial of silvery liquid with the hand not currently twisted in Scotty's coveralls, and Scotty struggled more.

“What is that?” When Melakon didn't answer, Scotty started trying to kick and thrashed, but Melakon held him pinned. “Lemme go, sir, or things might get uncomfortable for the both of us.”

Melakon sneered, “You're an engineer, not a fighter. Me, I've fought plenty.” He uncorked the bottle. “Open up and drink this, Mr. Scott. It'll make the guilt go away.”

Scotty pressed his lips tight together and Melakon tried to shove the vial down his throat. Scotty's eyes squeezed shut, he'd very nearly accepted his fate to be a mindless slave to Melakon, and then a pair of tiny booted feet crashed right into Melakon's nose. The momentum of the blow sent the man staggering back and he tripped over a workbench. Scotty sucked in a gasp of air, hands shaking, and met Keenser's beady little eyes. Keenser hopped off of Melakon's face and held up a pair of keys.

The Cadillac Scotty still leaned on beeped.

“Oh, ye little shit, I love ye a lot. Let's go, yeah?” Scotty held out his hand for the keys, and Keenser set them down and then climbed over the hood of the car, settling into the passenger seat with a little wiggle.

Scotty got inside the car and drove, crashing through the garage door and burning down the street, tires screaming. He may also have been screaming, he wasn't sure on that point. A card fell out of the glove compartment when Keenser opened it. Scotty glanced at it, and then did a double take.

_Enterprise Crew._ It was written in perfect gold lettering on a black background. Scotty's mouth felt dry. “Oh, fuck this.”

Keenser looked at him, tilting his head, and Scotty gave a terrified laugh as he whipped them around a corner and down a dark alley. “You stole the wwwrrrrong car, laddie. We've fucked ourselves properly, we have.”

Keenser grumbled and crossed his arms. Scotty whipped them around another corner, screaming at the top of his lungs all the while.

They found a house, empty but clearly owned, and Scotty broke the locks and was inside before the garage had finished closing on their ridiculously dangerous car.

“The fuckin' Enterprise! I'll be damned! They'll be comin' after us sooner than anythin', they will!” Scotty wailed his complaints to the room as he tore apart the personal computer of the house and hacked straight into the street cameras. He quickly looped the footage so that it was as though he'd never driven down Main Street at all, and did the same with several other cameras.

“Fuckin' Enterprise. They're bloody insane. Came out of nowhere, they did, like two years ago. They were alright, mindin' their own business, 'till that Kirk boy took over. Och, hand me that wire I just dropped, will ye, Keenser? I cannae reach under the table, but you've got them wee hands.”

Keenser glared at him with his beady eyes, but climbed down from his perch on the bookshelf to reach under the table. He dragged the wire out from beneath it and handed it up to Scotty, who hissed as he electrocuted himself but otherwise scarcely reacted.

Scotty lasted three days before the Enterprise Crew found him. He'd been jumping from house to house, destroying all evidence of him on any cameras that might have tracked him. He tricked the Crew for a while by transferring an image of his face to a camera all the way across the city. But the Crew wasn't full of idiots, and eventually they found him.

Scotty was shoving potato salad into his mouth when the door banged open. It was his latest house, he'd barely been there for three minutes. He'd stolen into the fridge for food as his stomach roared, and now he was held at gunpoint.

He hadn't even had the car since the first day. He said as much. “I ditched the car, I swear it! Don' shoot!”

It wasn't Christopher Pike that stared him down, but a pair of men who couldn't have been closer to opposites. The one with the gun was grinning, like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and had blond hair and pale eyes. The other was scowling like he hated life itself, and had scruff across his jaw and dark eyes.

“You put us on quite the chase,” the blond said, laughter in his voice, “I'd be pissed if I weren't curious to how you did it.”

“M'good with technology, lad.” Scotty said helplessly, “I could show ye, if you wanted. But I do no' have your car. I swear, I ditched it soon as I found out it was yours.”

“We're supposed to kill him and be done, Jim.” the grumpy looking man said, crossing his arms. He did not look pleased by either his words, or the amusement of his companion.

“Our tech guy sucks major balls, Bones. Let the man show me what he's got.” The man called Jim nudged his partner. “I liked you enough to bring you in. Don'tcha think I should give him a chance?”

The man called Bones rolled his eyes, but Jim tucked the gun into his pants and strode forward, grinning at Scotty. “What's your name?”

“Montgomery Scott.” Scotty said, “But my friends call me Scotty. Er, they would if I had 'em, sir.”

Keenser made a dismissive noise from on top of the fridge, and Scotty flicked him off.

“Alright, show me what you've got, Scotty.” Jim grinned, “If you impress me, you might even live.”

Bones rolled his eyes. Scotty pounced on the computer, eager to show off. He liked living. He liked not being dead, that was always nice. Plus, he liked to show off.

Three hours later, after his stomach had growled until he was starting to get a headache and he'd shown Jim a repitoir of handy skills, Jim smiled at him as he chowed on potato salad. He was apparently allowed to live, now.

“How would you feel about joining The Enterprise Crew, Mr. Scott?” Jim asked. Behind him, Bones sighed.

Scotty swallowed nervously, thinking of all the emails. “I dunno about that, lad. I'm not one for violence, or... any of that gang stuff, really."

“You're a damned good hacker, man, and that's pretty illegal.” Bones pointed out, leaning on the table where the mangled computer lay.

“That doesn't hurt anyone,” Scotty said, determined. “I cannae justify--”

“We're not like most gangs, Scotty.” Jim said, “We're... huh. What'dya say, Bones? What are we?”

“I dunno, Jim, I'm a doctor not a damned salesperson. I can't sell the man the idea of being in a fucking gang.” Bones clicked his tongue, turning away, “It's not like I really even said I wanted to join anyways. You just dragged me back there, droolin' all over me.”

“Don't make it sound like you don't love us.” Jim frowned, tapping his lips thoughtfully with the barrel of his gun. “Ah! Robin Hood. You heard of Robin Hood, Scotty?”

Scotty jumped slightly at being dragged back into the conversation. “Uh, aye... the old bloke from the stories. Steal from the rich to give to the poor, 'n all that.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jim said brightly, “Only... we steal from the rich and give to ourselves more often than the poor. But we lookout for people, Scotty. We don't like bullies. You heard about the Orion bastard your boss was dealing with? The one selling girls into slavery?”

Scotty nodded slowly, “I dinnae know until I left.”

Jim grinned, and it was darker than the one he'd had on before. “Well, that guys dead now. And more like him. That's what we do.”

Scotty hesitated. “I....”

“He's telling the truth,” Bones said, “Doctor's honor.”

The next thing Scotty knew, Jim had dragged him back to Pike, beaming, and Pike sighed before he'd even opened his mouth.

“Another one? Fucking hell James, are you trying to get everyone in the city to join this stupid gang?” Pike glared at Scotty, and Scotty waved. “What's this one do? Dental?”

“I'm an engineer, sir.” Scotty said, rocking on his heels. “Montgomery Scott, at yer service.”

Pike stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed again, and threw his hands up. “Whatever. Sure. But _nobody else,_ James Kirk. I will disown you.”

 


	5. Hikaru Sulu & Pavel Chekov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sulu and Chekov came as a pair. They met each other long before they met the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first of all. Wow. My bad. Kind of a long wait for an update, but college decided to fuck me for a while. Hopefully I will be able to regain my usual quick update schedule.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: violence, threats

Sulu liked working in the flower shop. It was calming, and he was good at it. Nobody could keep the flowers alive like he could. There was something satisfying about watching something grow beneath your hands. He made good money, his boss was pretty cool, and he always smelled like flowers when he went home.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

Sulu smelled like flowers, burning rubber, and gasoline. Because while Sulu worked in the flower shop most afternoons, he also street raced around the city once the sun went down. He knew it was illegal, and dangerous. He liked it.

Nobody knew, really. His windows were tinted so nobody ever saw his face. He didn't want it getting out, because then he'd lose his job. And while he often enough made enough money in bets alone while racing (undefeated, nobody came within three seconds), he did enjoy the stability of caring for the flowers.

Plus, nobody expected the smiling gardener to be the city's best street racer, who could drive a car between two buses and come out unscathed.

Sulu was working late the night he met Pavel. It was well after the shop closed, but whoever had the last shift hadn't cleaned up the rose bushes properly. He was out front, neatening them up and clearing off the thorns for tomorrow morning's customers, when a little blond boy came hurtling around the corner, shouting at him in what had to have been Russian.

Sulu didn't speak Russian, but the boy made a wild gesture for Sulu to move, and Sulu did understand that. He moved out of the way, standing in the doorway to his shop, just as a Klingon came running around the corner after the boy, a spiked bat raised over his head.

Sulu's jaw dropped, and he was stepping out of the shadows even before the Klingon tackled the boy to the ground. Sulu had no idea what was going on, but the boy was too young to be dying, and with his big blue eyes and baby curls, Sulu wasn't sure he was the type to start a fight.

Sulu moved without thinking, and jabbed the shears into the man's shoulder. It wouldn't kill him, probably, but the Klingon shouted and got off the boy, launching towards Sulu.

Sulu prepared to fight, garden shears raised defensively, but the boy from before jumped on the Klingon's back, slammed his hands hard on the side of the Klingon's head, and then dropped down as the Klingon fell, unconscious.

“Holy shit,” Sulu said, staring at the blood staining the boy's shirt from the Klingon's shoulder. Upon closer inspection, Sulu saw that the boy wasn't really a kid. He was probably an adult. He did have an innocent face and baby blue eyes, but he also was smirking like he'd just beaten Sulu in a race, and the blood from the Klingon wasn't the only blood on his shirt. Sulu stared at him. “Why was he chasing you?”

The boy shrugged, “I do not know,” he said, and Sulu confirmed it was definitely a thick Russian accent he heard, “One moment, I talked with pretty girl. The next, poof! It was his girlfriend I was stealing.” He grinned like a cat, “I tried to tell him it was not my fault, but he not listen. Is shame, we may have been friends....” There was a pause, and then, “Thank you, for your help.”

“Y-yeah, no problem.” Sulu shuffled back towards the store, suddenly thinking of the cameras that were set up for surveillance. He'd just stabbed someone. He was so fired. And possibly arrested. “Um, are you--”

“Chekov. Pavel Chekov.” The boy introduced himself, extending a hand for Sulu to shake. As soon as Sulu took the extended hand, a group of seven more Klingons came running around the corner. Some of them had fancier weapons than a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, and Sulu paled.

“Come with me!” He shouted, not releasing Chekov's hand as he took off running. Chekov followed without hesitation, still grinning like there was nothing more interesting than what was currently happening. He seemed surprised when Sulu dragged him down the alley between the flower shop and the sweet shop, and tugged his hand free by stopping when he caught sight of the car parked at the back of the lot.

It was a blue four door sedan. Shiny, but not really the ideal getaway car. Especially since Chekov knew they were now running from the Klingon gang downtown that he'd pissed off.

“That's a crap car!” Chekov yelped.

Sulu grabbed him by the collar and shoved him towards the passenger door. “Just trust me, dammit!”

Chekov glanced back towards the mouth of the alley, where the Klingons had just turned the corner, and cursed, kicking the car's tire before slamming himself inside. He barely had time to register that this was not the inside of a sedan before “Buckle up,” Sulu said, and then without warning floored it.

They shot out of the alley and whipped around a turn, narrowly missing smearing Klingon's into the pavement. Chekov lurched in his seat, catching himself against the dashboard and gaping at Sulu in apparent awe. The car was handling better than any sedan had the right to.

Sulu's grin was sharp and dangerous. He reached out and turned what Chekov had assumed to be a radio dial, and Chekov watched the hood of the car shimmer, and then bright gold appeared, edgy and shiny and beautiful.

“Ahhh, now this is more like it!” Chekov crowed cheerfully as the car's outer appearance changed. Chekov couldn't tell from inside, but it was clearly something flashy and expensive.

Sulu laughed, pushing the car faster. He blasted through a red light, dodging a truck without losing any speed. Chekov cheered, beaming.

The Klingons were on their tail, but Sulu wasn't bothered by them. He scowled slightly when he saw the cops were closing in too. “Dammit. I always feel guilty after avoiding the cops.”

“The man from before, the one that was chasing me,” Chekov said, in an apparently unrelated tangent, “He had three thousand credits in his wallet. How much would you like?”

Sulu looked over to see Chekov sorting through cards and a lot of cash. Sulu should have felt bad, because clearly this Chekov kid wasn't as innocent as he appeared, but he just felt some sort of jolt. It was like the adrenaline he got from racing, but more.

He liked it. He liked breaking these rules, too.

When Chekov caught him looking, eyes flicking to the road just every once and a while, Chekov beamed. He had a way of looking charming, even with such a young face. “You can have it all, yes?” Chekov tossed the money into Sulu's lap, watching it spill across his legs and the floor. “This is fun.”

“Yeah,” Sulu grinned, “It sure as hell is.”

He broke out of San Francisco and took off across a stretch of highway. The sky was pitch black now but for the stars that tried to peek through the heavy clouds, and the land stretched every which way. Sulu roared across it like a lion across the plains, Chekov cheering and crowing at it side. Cops tried to shoot out his tires, and he laughed again at their failure. Phaser proof tires were still relatively new, but Sulu was the best racer. He got them before most people knew they existed.

They escaped, and stayed out of the city for a while. They hopped around the state, never staying in one place long. Sulu learned Chekov had a mother back in Russia, but he hadn't seen her since he was thirteen. They bonded over being alone, and then bonded again over their mutual need for adrenaline and the things they saw as fun.

Two months later, Sulu pulled back into town, Chekov once again in his passenger seat. He'd grabbed another car, just in case, because as fun as breaking the law was they didn't want to go to jail. They went to Chekov's old place, instead of Sulu's apartment, and walked up sixteen steps.

Chekov caught his arm before Sulu opened his door. “Someone is inside.”

Sulu blinked in surprise, “How do you know?”

Chekov shook his head. He withdrew a key from his pocket and handed it to Sulu, and then pulled a knife from the pocket of his bright yellow hoodie. Sulu nodded, beginning to unlock the door. As soon as Sulu turned the nob, Chekov burst in like a rabid monkey, but there was silence.

Sulu entered the apartment to find Chekov standing there, holding a gun at another man. The man was casually sitting in Chekov's pastel blue Lay-Z-Boy, reading a magazine that was clearly in Russian. He looked up.

“Are you Chekov?” The man asked, staring at Pavel. Chekov shrugged.

“It depends on who is asking.”

“James Kirk.” The man stood from the chair. He seemed unimpressed with Chekov's knife. “I'm here for your friend, actually. Mr. Sulu, is it?"

Sulu blinked in surprise and looked up. “What? Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” James said, “But maybe you will. Do you go by the name Samurai when you race?”

Sulu had always been a good liar. “On MarioKart, yeah. It's my Nintendo username.”

Kirk stared at him, looking impressed. “Huh.”

“James Kirk!” Chekov suddenly seemed to connect something in his brain. “You! You're the leader of the Enterprise Crew!”

James looked back at Chekov. He looked honestly surprised. Sulu understood. The first time Chekov had made one of his instantaneous deductions, Sulu had been surprised too. Less surprised than when Chekov solved seventeen step math equations in his head, but still surprised.

Everyone was surprised when they realized Chekov was a genius.

“Yeah, I am. How'd you know that?” James asked.

“I hacked your files a year ago,” Chekov waved a hand, “Your security has gotten better recently. Did you finally figure out the problem with your coding? Your passwords were very weak.”

James' eyes narrowed. He had very blue eyes. Bluer than Chekov's. “We solved the problem.”

“Great. That could get problematic, if someone you didn't want seeing your files saw private things, no? Not like the fact that Dr. Leonard McCoy has a daughter. Does he know Joanna lives just inside the Georgia line, a few miles from where he grew up?” Chekov batted his eyelashes.

James' jaw dropped. In the next moment, he had Chekov by the collar. Sulu shot for the fireplace pokers, and hefted one in the air. James shook Chekov. “Are you threatening a little girl? Because let me tell you, kid, I don't like people who mess with little girls.”

Chekov shook his head, face serious. “I do not harm children.” He frowned. “I want in.”

James dropped him. “You want in?”

Chekov paused, looking at Sulu. Sulu gripped the fireplace poker more threateningly. Chekov smiled. “ _We_ want in. To the Enterprise Crew.”

James eyed Chekov, considering. “I came here for Sulu. His driving is legendary. But you're... you're something else too, aren't you, kid?”

Chekov's blink was slow and measured. “I am something very impressive, sir.”

“And you wanna be a part of my crew?”

“Yes, Mister Kirk.”

James grinned. He looked younger when he smiled. Sulu's grip loosened slightly on the poker, sensing the threat had passed.

“Alright then. Come with me."

"And we're in, then, Kirk?" Sulu asked, needing to know.

"I came into leadership just recently." Kirk smiled, and the smile looked like gunpowder and gasoline and lit matches. "It's time to make this gang mine."

 

 


	6. S'chn T'gai Spock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock took the longest for Jim to drag down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright first off, let me say that I really really wanted to end with Spock. But unfortunately, the chronological order requires Spock to be a part of the gang before Uhura, so I'll be ending with Uhura next chapter!
> 
> After this, I may or may not be doing a finale in the form of a Knife 'Verse version of Beyond, which would follow that movie similar to the way "your knife to my back, my gun to your head" followed Into Darkness. That would be a while in the making though, I assume.
> 
> Also, just for the record, I read all of the comments on all of my fics, and the comments on this and the previous fic are the best I've ever gotten. I actually cried the other day from so much positive feedback. Thank you all so much!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: violence, character death (canon-typical), emotions, blood

The last time Spock had a conversation with his mother was the day before he turned his back on Vulcan for what would unintentionally be forever.

He'd passed with flying colors, gaining entrance to the Vulcan Science Academy, but they called his humanity, his mother, a weakness. He had never accepted his heritage fully, always believing he must be fully Vulcan, but hearing it referred to as something lesser by people other than school bullies made a part of him want to claim it even more. So he turned down their offer to join the Vulcan Science Academy.

He would have left for Starfleet within the month, but Nero changed everything.

He was a psychopath, a Romulan man who was clearly misinformed and didn't care to be corrected. His bomb ripped through the center of Vulcan and had it crumbling in on itself before anyone could contact anyone for help. The only reason Starfleet knew of the situation was because Spock had already been having a holovid conversation with them, on his arrival tomorrow morning.

As Vulcan fell to pieces, Starfleet sent just three shuttles to evacuate the planet. It was never enough. It would never be enough, and Spock would hold it against them forever, despite the lack of logic in grudges. It was one of the reasons he didn't join up with them after arriving at Earth, despite his earlier commitment.

Only one shuttle escaped the wreckage of Vulcan and Nero's damaged ship. There were seven Vulcans on it, and Spock.

None of those Vulcans were his mother.

_Shattering rock, breaking, falling. Everything was tumbling like sandcastles Spock had made outside their house, when he was young enough not to think it was infantile. Amanda Grayson had played with him, showing him how to get the towers higher by wetting the sand. The towers had crumbled when the water dried, but baby Spock had been amused nonetheless._

_Now, as they ran through the temple of the Elders, the sandcastle was the planet. Spock held his mother's hand as they rushed around breaking pillars. He tugged her out of the way of a rain of pebbles, and they were going to make it. The sunlight from the open door spilled across Spock's boots. They were going to make it, the shuttle was right there, they could all live...._

_A pillar exploded. Spock looked back, saw that the Elder in its path had managed to get out of the way, and felt relief._

_Then he felt the shifting of bones within the hand he held. The way it loosened suddenly, soft dry flesh going slack. Spock saw his mother, and then he didn't. A rock fell directly on top of her. She didn't even get the chance to scream._

_Spock was still holding her hand, and then he wasn't, because his father took his arm and pulled..._

Spock was on that shuttle with his father. He flew the shuttle in silence because the Vulcan Elders required meditation to organize the knowledge that was theirs alone now that the great libraries of Vulcan had fallen.

Even his father meditated, leaving Spock awake and aware and alone, one of hands wrapped tightly around the steering devices while the other lay open in his lap.

She'd held his hand until she'd died.

His open hand shook.

He stepped off the busted shuttle onto a spacedock which would take them to Earth, and did not immediately remember flying them there. The trip had apparently taken three-point-nine-nine hours. He did not remember a moment of it, consciously, though he was sure once the grief wore off he would remember.

What he remembered in that moment was the way the red dust had been smeared across his mother's cheek as a rock structure collapsed directly on top of her and killed her, turning her to nothing but iron and water and all the things fragile humans were made of.

Spock was told he was lucky to have been discussing his departure with the Vulcan Elders that day, else he would have died like the rest of his planet.

Spock silently thought that he wished that he had died like the rest of his planet, like his mother, and said nothing in reply to the brash human comment.

Spock was on Earth for a week before he became unable to speak with his father. The not quite subtle hints that Starfleet still wanted his service grew to being unbearable as well, so Spock turned away. The screams of Vulcan echoed every night in nightmares Vulcans were not supposed to have.

He had always been a scientist, so he took to the streets of San Francisco to learn of the cultures that mingled there. He had never been to Earth, so everything he came across was new, and different. He missed Vulcan like a physical sting every time he came across a difference between their culture and his (and there were many.)

For two weeks, his exploration was uneventful. San Francisco was a dirty city, filled with dancing and drinking and loud, loud things. It was nothing at all like Vulcan. He spoke a variety of languages, and still often managed to offend someone if he engaged in conversation. As such, he didn't talk to many people.

On his sixteenth day on Earth's surface, he was walking past an alley on the way to a bookstore when he heard sounds of fighting within. He paused well within the shadows, to listen and watch.

It seemed to be three against one. Spock felt this was unfair, a brutal memory of his childhood flashing before his eyes, but he remained silent, unsure of the situation.

Two men had a third pinned to the wall, holding his arms. Another was throwing insults in the face of the one pinned down, and the struggling man – a blond, with blue eyes and bloody lips – grinned back at him, looking for all the world like he was winning despite being held down and beaten.

“Say that again, jackass!” The blond sneered, and Spock saw that his teeth were red with blood too. “Like I give a shit what you think of me.”

“That's just it, James. _Nobody_ thinks about you! You're nothing!” The man shoved ''James'' up against the wall again, leaning in close. Spock watched with a dark feeling in his stomach. Something in him told him to go and help. He forced himself to remain still.

“Like I haven't heard that one before.” James rolled his eyes. Spock was intrigued by his indifference.

“Your own mama don't even care about you, do she?” One of the bullies snarled, and for the first time his words seemed to have an effect other than amusement.

James' cutting grin fell away, and he spit blood in the other man's face as he struggled to get free. “Don't talk about my mother. You don't know anything about my mother.”

“I know she's crazy,” the bully taunted, “I know you made her that way. I know she's probably whoring it up in space right about now, anything to get away from you.”

James lashed out, kicking like an angry horse, and Spock found himself stepping forward and nerve-pinching the most vocal of the bullies. He watched the man fall, not stooping to keep him from hitting his face on the filthy pavement, as James broke free and then smashed one of the other men across the nose. Spock watched as he thoroughly trashed both the men, and then stepped aside, daintily avoiding the body between himself and James as the two thoroughly beaten, but still conscious, men ran away.

“I could have taken them,” James muttered, “I had it handled.”

“There is a ninety-nine point eight percent probability that you did not need my help.” Spock agreed quietly, “And yet I offered it despite the odds.”

James stared at him for a moment. He had a bruise beneath one eye, and his top lip was split. Spock should have stopped looking at him by now, shouldn't have even been in the alley in the first place, but found that he could not move. Something inside his mind that had been screaming since Vulcan had quieted, and he was enraptured totally and completely.

Mildly alarmed by himself, Spock focused on a spot behind James and said, “I find that I understood your situation.”

James watched him a moment longer. “What, you got bullied?”

“I did,” Spock said, but then added, “But it was the words of injustice against my mother which always caused an emotional reaction.”

James' face shifted, changing completely. Something sparked in his bright eyes that captured Spock's attention again. This moment felt charged, and yet the fighting had already stopped. “I don't care what they say about me. But her...” James smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Something about moms, I guess.” He sighed, leaning back against the brick wall.

There was a moment of silence. Spock wished he had more sense to know if he was meant to leave now. He found that he did not want to.

“I'm Jim. Jim Kirk.” The man said after a while, lowering his eyes back to Spock's face from the black sky. “I'd shake you're hand, but you're Vulcan. And I know what that means to you guys.”

“I am Spock.” Spock replied, “And I would have shaken your hand, though I am thankful that you took my culture into consideration.”

Jim smiled softly at him, giving a breathy chuckle. Privately, and objectively, Spock thought that it was an oddly charming smile, for one so soaked with blood.

“Do you wanna get drinks?” Jim asked, and Spock tilted his head.

“Alcohol has no effect on me,” he said.

“Well, that's good to know, but I meant coffee.” Jim smiled again like Spock had pulled that look from him, and Spock found himself wanting to make Jim show him a variety of expressions. It was a fascinating experience.

“I am amenable to getting drinks with you, then.”

Kirk dusted off his shirt, shedding an expensive suit jacket and tossing it in an open dumpster as they left the alley. Spock raised an eyebrow but said nothing, following him out into the pale streetlight. They found a 24-hour coffee shop, and sat outside beneath a ragged umbrella sipping black coffee with whipped cream, and jasmine tea.

They talked until the stars came out, and Spock felt something inside him settle in a way it hadn't been calm since Vulcan. Jim was crude, and flirtatious with every member of the staff. Yet he met Spock argument for argument on social matters, could talk for hours about things that mattered, and Spock could tell he was a genius.

It was the best conversation Spock had ever had.

It had to end at some point, though, and at roughly 11:00 at night, Jim set his coffee cup down. It had been empty for some time, but he'd been unfolding and refolding the paper rim, or tearing at the bottom. It was mangled now, but he didn't seem to notice even as it fell over. From within his shirt, Jim pulled a business card. “My number is on here. We could meet up, again, whenever you wanted.”

Spock wondered if that was an offer to have a date. He was not sure Jim;s actions were romantically inclined towards him or not. He was not sure he wanted them to be. He still felt the loss of his mother and the craving for revenge like a raw burn on his chest that stung with every movement.

But Spock could do with some companionship.

“I will look forward to our next meeting then, Jim.” Spock said, and meant it.

Jim winked, “Me too.” And then he was walking away. Spock watched him go.

The next time they met up, it was for pizza. Spock ate salad from the bar, and Jim ate an entire cheese pizza while lamenting the fact that Spock wouldn't, until Spock did. He ate with a fork and a knife, and Jim laughed, but he was smiling like this pleased him.

The next time they ate at someplace pretty. It wasn't a date, they hadn't called it that, but they showed up dressed nicely, expensively, and split a bottle of wine.

Jim asked about Vulcan, and Spock did not answer.

Spock asked about Jim's family, and Jim did not answer.

They met again, and again. On the fifth night, two months into this strange friendship they had begun to build, Jim quietly asked if he'd heard anything about Nero since the incident.

Spock hadn't. Not really. He'd looked, too, extensively. He told himself time and time again that vengeance was illogical and immature, but he wanted nothing more than to see Nero punished for what he did to Vulcan, to Spock personally. To Amanda Grayson. But it seemed that immediately following the destruction of Vulcan, Nero had gone to ground somewhere, and hadn't been found yet.

Jim Kirk looked him in the eyes as Spock told him what he knew, and then he said quietly, “What if someone found him? What would you do?”

Spock felt a pressure in his chest. Vulcans could not lie. He did not know what to say. “I do not know.”

Jim nodded slowly. They didn't talk, and Jim paid for Spock's portion of the meal as well.

The next morning, Spock was awoken at 3:05. There was something tapping at his window.

Seeing as he lived on the sixtieth floor, just one from the top of the building, this was no a common occurrence. Spock adjusted the belt of his black sleeping robe and moved to the window, pushing aside heavy drapes that would have had no place on Vulcan, but here served well to keep out the chilly nighttime breeze.

Whatever he was expecting to see as he pulled back the drapes, it was not James Kirk looking at him. Jim's face was wild, hungry almost. His eyes were nearly silver with the darkness around him, and he wasn't smiling, though he looked somehow happy. “Good morning.”

“Jim. Are you alright?”

“Do you trust me, Spock?” Jim asked calmly, watching Spock's face. Spock hesitated, staring.

“I... believe that I do.”

“Then come with me. I'll explain everything. But you need this, and I want you to have it.”

Jim then reached up to the ledge above Spock's window, and pulled himself up towards the roof. Spock leaned out the window, tilting his head awkwardly to watch as Jim pulled himself gracefully up and over the pigeon spikes, and settled on the roof. He looked down at Spock expectantly, like some beautiful gargoyle watching over him, and Spock swallowed.

“May I dress?”

“Yeah, 'course.” Jim said, settling down, “Just don't be long.”

“I will endeavor to hurry.” Spock said, dryly. He ducked back inside his room and shed his sleeping robe, instead grabbing pants and a thick black sweater. He took his gloves almost as an afterthought, remembering the sharpness of the bricks on his sensitive hands, and then he was climbing out the window.

He met Jim on the roof, and Jim clapped him on the shoulder. There was a small helicopter there, waiting. The blades swung lazily, clearly just barely having been turned on, and Jim dragged him towards it.

Vaguely, Spock wondered if he were being kidnapped. But that was ridiculous. He was clearly willingly going along with whatever it was Jim wanted from him.

They flew over the city, the helicopter surprisingly quiet for such a usually loud vehicle, and Spock stared at Jim. “You implied there would be an explanation. It is quite early for a flight across the city, Jim.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, and then he leaned out of the helicopter and pointed. “There's your explanation, Spock. I'm guessing you know what that is?”

Spock leaned out beside Jim. The wind from the helicopter ripped around him, tossing his hair every which way and stinging his eyes until he closed his inner eyelid. But then he saw what Jim was pointing at, and all those distractions became irrelevant.

It was the Romulan flag, flickering lazily, and below it, tiny, hidden if one wasn't distinctly looking for it, was the number of Nero's vessel.

Nero's Romulans.

In the city.

Spock stopped breathing. He looked at Jim, and found Jim already staring at him. “Do you know what it is I do, Spock?” Jim asked calmly.

“I had put together enough information to know it is likely not a profession many can accomplish.” Spock hesitated, and then added, “Likely, it is not strictly legal, either.”

“I run a gang.” Jim said, like it was something he trusted Spock to know. “We're called The Enterprise Crew. Sometimes, we take people out that we see as threats.”

Spock stared some more. “You are going to take down Nero?”

“...Yes,” Jim said slowly, “But... this isn't about the gang. That's why it's just you, and me.” Jim reached out slowly, grabbing hold of Spock's shoulder and clasping it. “This is your fight, Spock. Not mine. I'll kill him, but I want you to get a chance to make him understand what you felt.”

Spock felt something being pressed into his hand. He looked down and found it was a gun, neat and black. It felt foreign in his hand.

“You don't have to do anything. This is your life, and God, people seem to want to push you around a lot. But I wanted – I mean, I think you needed a choice – he's done so much to you, I just--”

Spock tucked the gun into the back of his pants. “I will go with you, Jim,” he said calmly, despite the sudden emotional upheaval going on in his chest, “I would like to see Nero's face, and know he is gone.”

Jim grinned like a demon. “Good. Let's go.”

The helicopter didn't land. They slid down lengths of steel wire onto the roof of Nero's building. Spock was glad he'd brought his gloves, because even through them he could feel the cold burn of the wire against his palms.

They landed lightly, Jim leading the way to a hatch. It was locked, and Jim pulled out lockpicks, but Spock reached over and tore the lock off neatly. It made a tiny noise, but nothing to worry about, and Jim grinned even wider.

They made their way down through the building. It had once been a factory, though now it was simply a hideout. Spock pinched a few of those they came across, but then he turned to catch up with Jim and set off a motion sensing alarm. The time for subtlety was gone, and out came Jim's gun.

He did not fire a shot. He dispatched those that attacked him, dodging knives and breaking arms, but the gun felt like a brand against his back. He was reluctant to use it, Surak's teaching still ringing in his pointed ears. Life was precious, he'd been taught, and that thought was still at the forefront of his mind when he suddenly came nose to nose with Nero.

Nero believed he knew Spock. He sneered and spit and went on and on about a timeline Spock didn't know. He held a gun to Jim's head, and then knocked Jim out, and then kept talking.

“Romulus is still in tact. You could go there, now, and live happy.” Spock said coldly, “It is Vulcan that is gone forever. You have made me a member of an endangered species for nothing. You are a fool.” Spock had a gun in his hands. They were steady, his body entirely under control despite the anger that was flooding him, burning hotter than adrenaline.

Nero would have said something else, but it was hard to speak with a bullet in your throat. Harder still with two between your eyes.

Spock emptied the rest of the cartridge into Nero's chest, all while maintaining the cool, aloof air of a man who did not care.

Surak's teaching shattered apart at the seams within his brain and he ignored it. Vulcans felt emotion, and all the emotion Spock had hid for years, all the pain for his mother and the pain of his split life and everything, everything he felt, he poured into each bullet, which then sank into Nero.

Nero was dead, and Spock tossed the gun away. There were no prints on it, it didn't matter, and he didn't want to look at it anymore.

Jim was awake when Spock turned to see him. Spock was suddenly unsure he'd ever been unconscious at all. “Good?” Jim asked, and Spock's lips went thinner.

“No.” Spock said, “But better.”

Jim nodded.

Spock did not return to the sixtieth floor. He took up a room directly beside Jim's, and turned the thermostat hot, like Vulcan.

“A hobgoblin, sharing my bathroom. Fuck this.” said the doctor, and Spock felt at home, somehow, as Jim laughed when he calmly argued back.

 


	7. Nyota Uhura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota claws her way into the gang all on her own.

**Nyota Uhura**

 

Last to join the family, Nyota Uhura was the only one to dig her perfectly manicured nails into the gang and push herself in. Jim didn't even approach her directly. She simply showed up on their doorstep, a swing in her ponytail as she cocked her head and smiled at them.

Nyota worked in Starfleet for six years without ever seeing space. She flew through her communications training at the Academy with the highest Language scores anyone had ever seen, and she quickly showed up every professor that tried to teach her anything. It soon became clear that if you wanted to learn anything about Xenolinguistics, you went to Nyota, and the teachers didn't like that.

Nyota was more than just a talented tongue, however, and she quickly realized what was going on. They were punishing her for her _audacity_ to show them up by keeping her grounded. It was their error, because it was clear that nothing at Starfleet Academy could hold Nyota's interest for long. She'd learned every language they offered, and spoke them all better than most of the professors. She taught herself a dozen more, picking them up by the week.

She quit the day she turned twenty-two. Her contract had been expired for three months anyways, and reenlistment held no happiness for her. Even if she went to space, there was no ship that had stolen her heart, and no captain she felt good serving under. Something was calling to her from beyond Starfleet's gates, and so she walked away.

Somehow, she walked straight into a mugging. Six men jumped her, all of assorted species. She fought back, which they weren't expecting, and had two on the ground unconscious and another shouting as she nearly pulled his arm out of his socket, gorgeous high heeled boot on his back. But as she dropped him, kicking him away from her, she turned back to find the other three sprawled across the ground, completely unconscious.

The vulcan standing over them watched her, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He wasn't dressed like an ambassador, all straight lined suit and dark blue. She had no idea who he was, or what he was doing there.

“ _Tonk'peh_.” She greeted warily, body still prepared to fight. “ _Vi nam-tor du?_ ”

The vulcan's face didn't change, but something in his eyes told Nyota that he was impressed. He repeated her greeting back to her, but then switched to standard. He had a deep voice. Nyota would have found him handsome, if she weren't worried about who exactly he was.

“My name is Spock.” The vulcan told her, and Uhura's wary expression shifted immediately to one of shock.

“The ambassador's son?” Spock inclined his head. Nyota lowered her raised fists and smoothed her skirt, watching him warily. “But I was under the impression that he'd left the city a few months ago. Ambassador Sarek hasn't seen him in a long time.”

Spock blinked slowly. “As you can see, I have not left the city. Are you safe, walking the rest of the way home?”

He asked in a way that suggested he already knew the answer, so she didn't bother hiding it. “Yes.”

“Very well. Stay safe, Miss Uhura.” Spock said, bowing slightly before he was gone, walking away from her.

She saw him again, three days later. He was drinking tea while the men beside him drank coffee. He met her eyes, and she decided to speak with him again after she'd ordered, but when she turned around with a vanilla latte in her hand, he and his companions were gone.

She was flicking through radio channels, alone in her apartment, when she flicked through static that caught her ear.

She flicked it back a channel, and then forward again. Different frequency, she knew it.

Being a linguist did not mean she only had a talented tongue. Half of knowing a language was listening, and Nyota had mastered listening. She sat for a moment, pondering, and then picked up her old Starfleet PADD.

Within moments, she'd slipped delicately through the fake static of the channel, and was listening to voices, chatting back and forth with the sound of gunshots in the background. She would have thought it were an accidental pick-up of a holo, but...

She heard Spock's voice then, cold and clear and without the tremor of excited emotion the other voices held. They were clearing out a house. Based on the gunshots, Nyota expected it was not just moving day.

“ _We'll head to get drinks at Admiralty after this, Chekov, so don't have too much fun. Spock, you good to DD?”_

“ _Of course, sir.”_

Nyota shut off her radio, and picked up her purse. She looked in the mirror, and smiled sharply before reapplying ruby lipstick, and heading out the door.

She found them immediately. The bar was crowded, always was, but they sat filling up an entire corner of the building. Six of them, all perfectly clean, not a hint of what had occurred before marring their appearance. They were all gorgeous, too, and not necessarily in the traditional way. Something about them just made them seem untouchable.

Nyota set her purse down on the table by Spock's elbow, and smiled. “Mind if I join you?”

Silence fell.

“Miss Nyota Uhura.” Spock said, “I... did not expect to see you again.”

“Am I interrupting?” She asked, still crowing internally with victory.

“Yes,” the youngest looking member of the group muttered. The blond that was sitting close to Spock kicked him gently beneath the table.

“Not at all. Take a seat. My name is Jim. Did Spock call you Nyota?” He smiled, and his eyes sparkled with interest.

“Uhura, please.” She said to him, and the table went tense again.

“Uhura it is.” Jim said smoothly, unruffled.

The tension at the table was palpable. She pretended not to notice, and ordered a drink.

“Uhura speaks a multitude of languages.” Spock offered, folding his napkin neatly in his lap.

“Yeah?” Jim said, the sparkle still there in his eye. He met Spock's gaze, and had a conversation with Spock in a language even Nyota didn't speak. “Like Klingon? Maybe Orion?”

“Plenty of people speak Klingon. Orion, too.” Nyota sipped her latte, never taking her eyes off of Spock.

“ _Ri wehk komihn stariben vuhlkansu._ ” Spock said, making Jim's eyes flick immediately to him. Nyota effortlessly translated it in her head.

_Not many humans can speak Vulcan._

She remained silent, watching him.

“I am curious as to how you learned to speak my tongue.” Spock said after a moment.

“I thought you said most humans can't pronounce half the words in the Vulcan language.” The man beside Jim leaned on the table, looking at Spock.

“Most can't.” Nyota said.

“But you can.” Jim said, grinning now. “How?”

“I taught myself.” Nyota said, and then, for some reason, added: “Starfleet doesn't teach enough languages. I got bored.”

Jim looked delighted.

“You are not in Starfleet now, yes?” The little one spoke again, his accent thicker now that he was speaking up.

“Нет, я ушел.” Nyota said smoothly, and watched his face light up.

“You speak Russian, too?” Jim pulled her attention back to him. “So... four languages, then? Not bad.”

“Thirty seven, actually.” Nyota said, “Well, thirty seven fluently. I can also write in several that I can't speak.”

Jim's jaw dropped, and the man beside him choked on his beer.

“Thirty-seven?”

“Give or take.” Nyota said. Spock looked at her, and though his face was expressionless, she thought he might be amused.

“Impressive.” Jim said, “Why did you quit Starfleet then?”

“They couldn't give me what I wanted.” Nyota said honestly, “They wouldn't let me fly. Wanted me to teach.”

Jim's eyes were very blue. She wasn't even interested in him, but she felt captivated as he looked at her. “Interesting.”

“But... I think you could give me what I wanted.” Nyota said, deciding to show her hand. “Couldn't you?”

Jim grinned, and even unintentionally it was a flirtatious smile. She didn't back down. “I suppose that depends on what you want.”

“I want the freedom you have.” Nyota said, “I want the adventure.”

“And why do you think we have it?”

“Because you do.” Nyota said simply, “Even if I hadn't heard you over the radio, I can tell that this group does whatever it wants, whenever.”

“Oi, wait lass,” said the very-nearly-drunk Scottish man at the end of the table. “Over the radio, you said?”

Nyota grinned.

“Spock, pay the tab. We need to talk to this fine young woman, and we need to talk somewhere that isn't here.”

Spock left the table. Nyota smiled back at Jim.

By midnight, she had her own room in _The Enterprise_ building. She moved in within the next day, and by the third everyone in the gang knew her name.

The Enterprise Seven felt complete after that. The family had been created, and no prying fingers had ever managed to pick them apart.

There wasn't blood between them, but there was something, and that was all that was needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize one more time. Midterms and then projects all hit me at once, and so this chapter somehow managed to take longer than the entire other fic to come out. Sorry, guys.
> 
> But finally, there it was. Nyota Uhura joined, and the family was finished. I hope you enjoyed! I'm not sure when the Beyond sequel to this verse will come out, but I'm sure it'll happen eventually. Thanks for reading!


End file.
